I'm Sorry, Artie
by AA Addict
Summary: New Years Eve meant new opportunities, new beginnings, a new chapter in one's life. Alfred turns the page onto a new chapter; a chapter rife with despair, regret, and an act he will never forgive himself for. Now, Arthur might as well be dead, and Alfred has to deal with his guilt. The worst thing? No matter how many times he says 'sorry', he won't hear an 'apology accepted'.


" _Finally_! I thought the stupid train ride would never end! Come on come on come on, we're going to be late!"

Alfred grabbed onto Arthur's coat sleeve, and tried to push past the crowds of people all waiting to disembark the train. Arthur pulled him back.

"You can't overtake all these people!" Arthur hissed.

"But what sense does that make? We got on first, so we have to leave last? How's that even fair?!" Alfred moaned crossly. "They're... They're... They're _penalising_ us for being on time! See, I even used a fancy word to show how unfair it is!"

"Well now that you say it..." Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "That's besides the point! It's called _social etiquette_ , Alfred!"

"No, it's called rising up against the injustices in this world! Someone has to do it! And who better to do it than I, Alfred F. Jones, the hero!"

"Just shut up. The queue's moving now, anyway." Arthur muttered, pulling Alfred along with him as they got off the train.

"Alright, I can breathe again! I always feel kinda claustrophobic on packed trains. I hate small spaces. Do you hate them?" Alfred asked, stretching his arms out to the side and spinning in his open space.

"I don't mind small spaces, to be honest. _Crowded_ spaces, on the other hand..." Arthur shuddered. "Anyway, come on. I thought you didn't want to be late?"

"Oh damn, you're right! Let's go!" Alfred gasped, running off and dragging an unprepared Arthur along with him.

"We've got half an hour left! Only thirty minutes!" Alfred exclaimed, staring at his watch in horror. "We're not going to be able to see the ball drop at this rate!"

"How long will it take to get to Times Square?" Arthur asked urgently. He'd never admit it to Alfred, but he was excited for the New Years Ball drop. New Years Eve was one of his most favourite holidays; it signified new beginnings, new hope, new opportunities. And with the number of failed job applications he had suffered this year, the prospect of a brand new year was even more appealing than ever.

"It takes about thirty minutes! We'll have to get a cab!" Alfred replied, sticking his hand out and waving it around. "Get forty dollars out of my wallet, quick!"

He shoved his hand into Alfred's pocket and extracted his wallet. He unbuttoned it, expecting to find a wad of cash, but instead found-

"Nothing! There's bloody _nothing_ in your wallet, Alfred!" Arthur cried out. Alfred's eyes widened in horror as Arthur tipped the wallet upside down in the hope of something being there.

"Nothing?! There can't be nothing! I haven't even bought any coke!" Alfred exclaimed.

"How much did you bring in the first place?"

"Twenty dol- _Shit!_ Train tickets cost ten dollars each! Dammit!" Alfred smacked his head furiously, looking panicked. "What do we do, Arthur?! We won't be able to make it on time!"

"We could try running for it... We'd get a really bad view, though." Arthur suggested.

"Well, the only way we'd be able to run and get a good view was if we were The Flash. But, we're not, though we can damn well try to be! Come on Arthur! We have a clock to beat!"

Alfred started sprinting down the pavement, Arthur a couple of steps behind. The wind rushed past Alfred's ears, which mixed with the sound of screeching tyres and loud yells, created a deafening noise.

"We're gonna have to cross, Artie!" Alfred said as Arthur caught up. "I have no idea where the pedestrian crossing is, and we have no time to look!"

As soon as an opening came, Alfred darted out into the road, narrowly avoiding death as cars all around him horned in anger. He paid no attention to any of them, however, and only concentrated on getting to the other side safely.

"Hah... We made it, Artie... Now let's dash!" Alfred said, panting a little. When no response came, Alfred arose from his stooped position in confusion, and his eyebrows furrowed when he found that Arthur was not with him. He looked back to the other side of the road, and saw Arthur still there, looking a little apprehensive as he stared at the speeding cars.

"COME ON, ARTIE!" Alfred yelled. "IT'S EASY! I DO IT ALL THE TIME! JUST FIND AN OPENING, AND RUN!"

Arthur appeared to be steeling himself. Alfred nodded encouragingly as Arthur looked at him hesitantly. Then, when an opening came, Arthur ran out into the road. Alfred grinned happily, but then Arthur stopped. Just for a split-second. It was barely any time at all.

Time seemed to love messing Alfred's life up.

Arthur soared through the air gracefully, his arms outstretched, as if he were flying. His body rose, then fell to the ground harshly, as if he were a rag-doll, a thing, not a person who was everything to another.

Cars stopped suddenly, people getting out to take a look at the incident. Screeching tyres, loud yells, deafening noises, and Alfred could hear none of it. His senses weren't working properly. They couldn't be working properly, because what he just saw couldn't have happened, it just couldn't!

Alfred was barely aware of the fact that he was running; all his thoughts were focused on one thing and one thing only.

Arthur.

He pushed his way past the crowd of onlookers, a look of pure horror dawning on his face as he took in the morbid scene.

Arthur, his dear Arthur, his arrogant British gentleman, lay on the cold tarmac, dark blood seeping from his head, staining his blond hair. His jacket was spread out underneath him, and his neckerchief askew.

"Arthur..." Alfred crouched down, staring at his face intently. It was paler than usual, clashing horridly with the dark red stains. Dazed, he brought a shaking hand up to stroke his cheek. It couldn't be... This couldn't be happening...

"Shit shit _shit_!"

Suddenly, the whole situation became real to Alfred. Screams and cries pressed in on him from all sides, crushing him.

"He's _dead_!"

"The man's _dead_!"

"Somebody call 911!"

"SHUT UP!" Alfred screamed, hot tears pouring from his blue eyes. He wasn't heard, however; he was a lone mourner in a crowd of spectators. This was too much, somebody had to do _something_ , Arthur was dead on the floor and nobody was helping him and Alfred felt horrible and so confused and he just wanted to scream out and cry but he had to help Arthur but he didn't know how he wasn't a fucking doctor he was just Alfred and-

"HEY! I'm talking to you!" A man yelled at him, looking slightly hysterical.

"Call 911!" Alfred cried. "Get an ambulance! Do CPR! Anything! Just bring him to life!"

"Kid, I know _nothing_ about that stuff! This dude just ran out in front of my car and I couldn't stop!" He replied, pulling at his hair.

"Just call 911!" Alfred begged, his vision blurring from tears.

"We did that!"

"Then where's the ambulance?!"

"It'll be here! Goddammit, I just knocked a guy over! I'm so sorry, man, I can't believe this just happened, he just ran out in front and I tried to stop but it was too late..." The man apologised, his voice croaky. Alfred wasn't paying any attention to him, however. All his attention was on preserving Arthur's life. _If he's alive._

Alfred's hands shook as he pressed his jacket onto the wound, trying to stop the flow. He wouldn't let Arthur die. Not here, not now, not while he could do anything to stop it. Alfred stared at Arthur's face, still unable to accept the possibility of his closed eyes meaning death. He _couldn't_ accept it. Those green eyes of Arthur's weren't meant to be dead and dull; they were meant to be glittering gems, laughter and life forever lighting them up.

Sirens blared from behind them, and Alfred could not remember ever hearing such a soothing sound. Paramedics came rushing out of the ambulance with a stretcher and medical kits. They crouched down next to Alfred, placing a stretcher on the floor.

"Move, we need the space." One paramedic said curtly. Alfred obliged, not taking his eyes off Arthur. The paramedics set his blood-soaked jacket aside and laid Arthur onto the stretcher, then onto a mobile bed. He was still, unmoving. The sight _terrified_ Alfred. He was used to seeing Arthur alive and well, yelling angrily at people and drinking tea... Not lying on a stretcher.

The ambulance doors shut, and the sirens started up again, taking Arthur to the place where he would be saved. Alfred stared dazedly after the ambulance. He was still in a state of shock. What had just happened? In a mere split-second, Alfred's whole world had been crushed.

"Hello."

Alfred looked round to see a police officer looking at him enquiringly, a notebook in her hand.

"...Hi."

"I'm Officer Hirst. I just want to ask you a few questions. Firstly, who are you in relation to the victim?" She asked.

"I'm... His friend. Alfred. Yeah. I'm Arthur's friend." Alfred said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Pardon?" Of course she couldn't hear him. The world was creating so much noise, as if it didn't know it should be silent, for the most important person on it had just died.

"I'm his friend." Alfred said loudly, choking back a sob. Officer Hirst suddenly looked much more sympathetic.

"I'm very sorry. However, I do need to ask you these questions, and I ask you to be strong through the interrogation, okay?" She said. Alfred nodded wordlessly, still in a state of shock.

"What's your full name?"

"Alfred F. Jones."

"What's the victim's full name?"

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Can you tell me about what happened?"

Alfred's breath caught in his throat as the incident flashed before his eyes. Slowly, he nodded.

"We... We were getting late for the Ball Drop in Times Square, so we had to run. I... I ran out into the road and got to the other side, and I told Arthur to- _Oh God_!" Alfred screamed in horror as he remembered how he, Alfred, had _told_ Arthur to run out into the road, had _encouraged_ Arthur to do it, even though Arthur had been hesitant for this _exact_ reason.

Alfred F. Jones had killed Arthur Kirkland.

He sank to the floor, the tears flowing harder than ever. It was too painful... Too much... To know that _he_ was the reason the lights behind those green eyes had burnt out...

"I'm a monster..." Alfred whispered, hanging his head in shame.

"Alfred, you have to be strong, and tell me what happened." Officer Hirst said soothingly, though there was a hint of urgency in her voice.

"It's all my fault." He said croakily, the words burning his throat, making him want to throw up. "I ran th-through the traffic, and g-got to the o-other s-side. Arthur, he-he didn't want to, he k- _knew_ it was dangerous, but I t-t-told him to, I told him it was _easy_... So he r-ran, but he s-stopped for a m-moment, and then... And then..." He couldn't finish the sentence. The officer knew the rest of the horrid event, anyway.

"I'm really very sorry. I must thank you for recounting that for me." She said. Alfred barely heard her words, however, and merely nodded, refusing to look up, for if he looked into those kind eyes he didn't deserve, he'd probably start crying even more. He was pathetic, snivelling on the ground like a child, whilst Arthur was either fighting for his life, or had surrendered to the sweet oblivion of death.

"I'm sorry, Alfred, but I must ask you to leave the premises. Get a cab home." Officer Hirst said. Alfred finally looked up, looking confused.

"Can't... Can't I go see A-Arthur?"

She shook her head, pushing her fair hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry, but Arthur is not in a condition where visiting him is advisable. The doctors need to perform operations on him, and he, himself, will need peace and quiet. Having you sniffling all over him wouldn't be the best thing now, would it?" She responded, looking a little apologetic. Alfred sank back down dejectedly. So much for apologising to Arthur while he still had the chance...

"You really must leave now, Alfred."

"I haven't got any money to get a cab." Alfred explained, keeping his teary eyes on the ground. Another reason why it was all his fault. If he had just thought about cabs, he wouldn't have had to make Arthur run out onto the busy road.

"That is a problem, isn't it?" Officer Hirst fell silent for a moment, then continued. "Come on, then. I'll drive you to your home."

She held out a gloved hand, and Alfred, like a little child seeking comfort, took it, pulling himself up onto his feet.

"Where do you live?"

"In the block of flats on Greenfield Street." Alfred responded. Wordlessly, they entered the police car. On normal days, Alfred would've been pressing all the buttons, asking numerous amounts of questions, and being excited. Now, however, he simply sat there, gazing out of the window, Arthur's lifeless form taking up all of his mind.

"I'll tell the hospital to give you a call when you can visit him, okay?"

Alfred snapped out of his reverie, and turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"You'd really do that?" When she nodded, he felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards. He was smiling. It was hard to believe that just twenty-five minutes ago, he was smiling constantly. Now it felt like such a chore. "Thanks! I really need to see him... I need to tell him I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be his hero."

"Alfred, I do have a word of warning for you, however." Officer Hirst interjected, sounding stern.

"What?"

"Arthur has taken a serious blow to the head. I'm no doctor, but this injury will most likely have either permanent, or long-term effects. You must be prepared for any kind of news. It wouldn't do to have you break down in the hospital; not with all those other ill people. You must stay strong at the hospital, okay?" She instructed, and Alfred nodded, his burst of happiness diminishing. _Permanent effects. I don't want to think about that. Just focus on the fact that you'll see Arthur again soon..._

"Thanks, Officer Hirst." Alfred said, shutting the door behind him. She nodded.

"No problem. It's my duty. Now, you'll remember _your_ duty, won't you?"

Alfred nodded, quickly turning on his heel and retreating into the building. He didn't want Officer Hirst seeing his eyes drowning in tears.

The elevator opened on the seventh floor, and Alfred stepped out, walking briskly towards Room 704. His hands fumbled as he tried to find the right key and turn the lock, but he managed it, and hastily shut the door, weakly slumping down next to it. He was tired. Tonight was supposed to have been one of the best moments of his life, but instead it had turned into the worst.

And he owed it all to himself.

Alfred let the tears fall, not having the energy to wipe them away. Through his blurry vision, he caught sight of his clock, which read '00:14'. They had missed the Ball Drop. All over America, right this minute, people were out at bars and nightclubs, drinking, dancing, partying, having fun. None of them seemed to care that Arthur was almost dead in a hospital bed.

Alfred tilted his head back against the door, closing his eyes.

"Happy New Year, Arthur. Let's hope things get better from here on out."

* * *

 **A/N- Ciao! :D Wow, I'm writing ANGST with Hetalia... I didn't know that was possible XD**

 **I hate myself for writing this DX I can't stand to see the nations sad, yet I write angsty stories about them. 'Cause logic.**

 **On a side story, I created a Hetalia CD with all of England's and America's character songs on it! :D My mum said it was just noise :O I was like 'It's pure GOLD!' XD**

 **Well, tell me what ya think, and hopefully another update will come soon? :D I have sporadic updating tendencies XD**


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